


All Dogs Go to Heaven

by Wonderless



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dogs, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3630591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonderless/pseuds/Wonderless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky finds a stray Lab and names him 'Steve." Days later, he is shipped off to England to fight the war, and he brings Steve along as the mascot of the 107th Division. It's not long before he learns that war makes monsters of men, but all dogs go to heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Dogs Go to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to write a war story without knowing how military or wars or the 30s - 40s or anything along those lines work. I'm doing research, but there's a lot I don't know. Please forgive me for any misuse of terminology or factual/historical inaccuracies.

“America’s going to war!” Is the general topic of conversation these days.

One day, the televisions and radios are broadcasting baseball and football games with news of the mess in Europe scattered in. The advertisements in the morning papers were about the newest kitchen appliances and Luckies. Hell, peoples’ biggest concern was what to buy for Christmas.

The next day, the Giants game’s interrupted by an urgent news flash that the Japanese had kicked off.

They hit Pearl Harbor out of nowhere. Hard and fast. In two hours, they sank pretty much everything.

The day after that, FDR gets on the radio, and he tells us we’re going to war.

The radios start blaring recruitment propaganda, “America is going to war! Defend your country - enlist today!” Then the posters show up. I turn a corner, and Uncle Sam is pointing at me and saying, “I want you for US army.” I turn another corner, and comic book superhero Captain America is telling me to "Defend freedom. Enlist today."

Then the conversations change. All the guys are asking me, “Bucky, you enlisting?” and all the gals are asking me, “Bucky, are you enlisting?” It’s near the same damn question, but it’s not the same question.

When the gals ask, they ask with that sweet quaver in their voice, like they don’t want me or anyone dying. I’ve already perfected my response for them. Put on a charming smile, salute, and say, “Of course, sweetheart. I’m going to be on the frontlines defending you and this country, so don’t you worry your darling heart about a thing.”

They either get upset that I’m “going to die,” or they swoon over how "that's so brave, Bucky!"

When the guys ask, it’s an upgraded game of chicken. “Bet you I can shoot more Nazis than you” and “bet I’m more manly enlisting while you’re praying you don’t get drafted” and “skinny stick of a kid’s going to be left at home like a fragile gal.” That’s what they’re really saying.

So like any self-respecting able-bodied man who loves his country, I enlist.

\---

When I go to buy groceries at the corner store down the street, Mrs. Johnson, the old lady who owns the place tells me, “Young lad like you, you stay out of the war if you can help it.”

I tell her, “Ma’am, we need every able-bodied man out their fighting for this country. I’ve already enlisted.”

My answer must upset her. Men going off to war always upsets the gals. Tenderhearted, selfish things that would rather keep a man away from the call of service. Tear away his honor, but at least he’s home keeping her happy. Her gaze is lost to a distant past now. When she finally looks back to me, she says, “That’s what Richard said too during the Great War. He told us on his 18th birthday. One day, he never killed anything more than the Thanksgiving turkeys. Next day, he was flying out for a war, and three months later, I get a letter saying he died bravely in the line of action.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope I can be as brave as he was.”

“You boys all go into war with some sense of glory, and that’s what they want you to think.”

I nod politely even though I don’t like where she’s getting at.

She continues, “War in particular preys on the young ones who think they have to prove something to the world. They feed you on lies of glory and purpose, and then they toss you into hell.”

“It’s not about the glory; it’s about serving my country.”

“Serving your country, promise of glory, they’re two sides of the same coin. Did you know the Vikings used to tell their warriors that if they died in battle, they’d go to their version of heaven? If you ask me, you shouldn’t go to hell for any promise less than that of heaven.”

You don’t argue with old people. They already got their minds settled nice and happy, and you don’t get them to change their minds. If you argue with them too long, they might make you doubt your own mind, so I smile politely and pay for my groceries and leave.

\----

I get my letter in the mail, on official US Army letterhead and all.

107thsquad, shipping out to England in a week.

I open the accompanying package. Undershirt, tie, coat, pants, every piece in a shade of khaki or army green, and a spiff cap that bears the Army seal - my uniform. It's the kind of thing that you need to be careful about putting on. You put it on, and you shoulder a responsibility. You say, i'm going to defend America with my life, and you become one of thousands of men in the same uniform all fighting to protect the land of the free.

I button every button, clasp the belt, adjust the tie, look at myself in the mirror, and I get this bubbling feeling that feels like pride, like invincibility, like purpose. I’m going to fight for America.

I'm also going on a date, and this is the kind of thing you wear to a first date. I give my cap a tilt – because you gotta look proper, but you can’t look like a stiff bore, and let it be known that Sergeant Bucky Barnes has no intention of being anything but devilishly charming and stubbornly brave.

Oh, and I’m a Sergeant now. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes." Say that five times slow, and try to not to swoon.

\----

Here's the thing about runts that make it out alive: they don't back down from a fight. They plain don't know how. Because you take what you learn in science class, "matter is anything that has mass and takes up space," and you take a runt puppy and its four larger siblings. Then you take a mother who has only a limited stretch of teats, you make all five bundles of matter fight for milk from the mother, and you get each pup trying squeeze the others away to make room for himself. Larger object meet smaller object, smaller object gets pushed away, but sometimes, you get a smaller object that keeps coming back for more, and those are the runts that make it. So when you meet a runt that made it, you know that runt's a fighter.

Of course, there are other ways to tell if a dog has spirit. Take, for example, what's happening right now.

There's a group of three kids tossing rocks at this scraggly yellow lab. I would have thought this dog likes getting hit because he's not running away with his tail between his legs. Instead, he's taken cover behind a trashcan and alternating between barking and growling.

"Kill the mad dog!" The kids yell as they pelt trashcan, dog, and general vicinity with rocks the size of baseballs.

I've seen rabies in a dog, and those dogs straight up rush you and bite anywhere they can get at. Then you either get 21 shots straight to your stomach with needles the length of your arm, or you becoming a frothing mess and die.

So yeah, this dog is just a stubborn stray taking cover behind a trashcan. If he had rabies, these kids would be in the hospital on day 1 of 21 shots right now.

"Hey! Pick on someone your own size!" I yell and move to put a stop to their sadistic game, but the lab beats me. The kids turned to look at me, source of disapproving shout, and this stubborn bastard of a runt took that opportunity to dash out from behind the trashcans straight for the kid in the middle.

Dammit.

"Watch out!" I cry out because as much as the kid deserves it, I don't want him getting bit. It's for the dog's sake, really. If some brat kid told his parents about the dog biting him, they'd hunt down the dog and kill him.

The kid turns around in time, and crashes into his friend in his rush to dodge the dog’s sharp teeth. The dog misses, and I catch him by the scruff before he can make pass two.

“Get out of here, and stop bullying others,” I say, glaring at each one of them, trying as hard as possible convey authority with a writhing fur scrap trying to escape my hold.

They grumble obscenities that I pretend to not hear. Instead, I turn my attention to the pup. The ungrateful bastard tries to bite me when I pet him. I buy a hot dog from a stand and offer it in exchange for peace.

He devours it as if he hasn’t had a proper meal in days. Which is probably true. I mean, he's a stray, and I could almost play a xylophone on those ribs sticking out.

"You're a tough pup," I tell him. This time, when I try to pet him, he doesn’t object. "Stubbornest pup in Brooklyn probably" He cocks his head and licks me. "And by the looks of it, you don't like bullies."

"Heard military's looking for dogs to help in the war effort these days, and I'm getting shipped out to England in a week with the 107th. We're going to stop some bullies there, what say you come with us?”

He licks me again, and I scratch him under the chin.

“But first, you’re coming to the World's Fair with me. Bonnie's got a fine dame of a poodle; we’re going to make it a double date.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> In reference to the part where I wrote, "I've seen rabies in a dog, and those dogs straight up rush you and bite anywhere they can get at."
> 
> Pretty sure that dogs in midstage rabies will be semi-aggressive? Idk, I'm not a disease expert. If you get bit by a dog though, you should still get it checked out. Don't be like, "well, this one fanfiction said it wasn't rabies if the dog doesn't zombie out and KOS everyone, then it doesn't have rabies" and then end up in the hospital a few weeks later. I'd feel really bad about that :/


End file.
